


Let not your Heart be Troubled

by LauranicusPond



Series: Pretty, Petty Thieves [1]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Death, Gen, Urban Magic Yogs, blood mention, umy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauranicusPond/pseuds/LauranicusPond
Summary: 'Ross gazes at her, spellbound. He finds himself smiling; a big, wide smile that hurts his cheeks and makes him hide his face in his knees.'A Pre-Garbage Court Ross story





	

“Lizzie! Come on!”  
  
It echoes through the church, startling Ross out of his daydream. He shakes himself a little, rustling his wings behind him. Ross shifts forward, peering down into the church from his spot in the gallery. Two girls are hovering by the door, both of them clearly eager to get out into the late summer sunshine that streams through the stained glass windows. A third girl – Lizzie, Ross guesses – runs to join them, holding up a pair of sunglasses. Her hair catches the light, a dark auburn that makes Ross think of autumn. They pull the door open and step out of the church and out of view.

 

* * *

  
  
It’s raining. Ross can hear it on the roof. The church is empty, quiet, peaceful. Ross watches the tea lights flickering gently by the altar. There’s a long table close by, stacked with tins and boxes of food, a woven basket of fruit set in the middle. The basket itself is a little weary looking these days, Ross thinks, but there’s more food there than he’s seen in the past few years. He smiles to himself and murmurs a quiet prayer in thanks.   
  
Ross remembers the years he prayed for a good harvest, the years the church filled with everyone from the village for the Harvest Supper. But the village is a city now, the fields gone for houses and shops and playgrounds and schools for as far as Ross can see from the top of the church. The people are still good people though, he thinks. The door creaks open and for a second before it closes again the sound of the rain gets louder.   
  
She’s soaked through, the red of her hair dulled to brown and dripping, curling on her shoulders and around her face. Ross watches her make her way down the aisle between the pews. Her footsteps reverberate on the stone until she slides into the first row of pews and kneels down. Ross tips his head, and moves along the gallery to get closer. She’s praying. Ross can hear her murmuring to herself. Ross wonders what she’s saying.  He watches until the pastor comes in with more tins for the harvest table and disturbs her.  
  


* * *

  
Ross wraps his arms around the cross on the roof and looks out over the city. Most of the houses are dark this late at night, but Ross can see decorations in the lit windows of the shops nearby. He presses his face against the stone of the cross and closes his eyes. The cold bothers him none. Below him in the church, the congregation sings. Ross moves his lips along to the hymns filling the church.    
  
There's a break in the singing and Ross climbs carefully back down the roof and into the church. It's almost midnight. Ross ducks back into his corner of the gallery, tucking his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. He can still see the choristers at the front of the church. The pastor gestures and Lizzie steps forward. She's wearing a dark green dress, and a bow the same colour in her hair. Ross thinks she looks pretty.    
  
Lizzie starts to sing the first few lines of Once in Royal David's City, her voice ringing out in the otherwise silent church. Ross gazes at her, spellbound. He finds himself smiling; a big, wide smile that hurts his cheeks and makes him hide his face in his knees. The other choristers come in, and then the rest of the congregation, but all Ross can hear is her.    
  


* * *

  
  
Ross lets the words of another Easter Sermon wash over him. He's barely listening as the pastor tells the story of Jesus' death and resurrection, instead watching Lizzie sneak her younger brother a sweet from a paper bag in her lap. Lizzie shifts in her seat, looking around the church slightly. She looks up toward the gallery where Ross is, and he shrinks back, feeling the tingle of his magic over his skin as he hides himself in the shadows.    
  


* * *

  
  
Ross tips his head back, turning his face to the sun. It warms his skin. He's sitting on the edge of the roof, next to one of his non-sentient counterparts, his legs hanging over the edge. The sky is clear and blue as far as he can see, and Ross plans on sitting here until the sun sets.    
  
There's laughter in the church yard, and Ross looks down to see Lizzie step backwards away from a dark haired boy, her hands out toward him. He can't make out her expression, but she's laughing still as the boy takes her hands and steps close. He kisses her. Presses her up against one of the taller graves and kisses her.    
  
Ross' chest hurts. 

  
Lizzie puts her arms around the boy's shoulders and leans into him. Ross knows he should look away but he can't. His chest hurts. They keep kissing. Ross has seen kissing before, caught glimpses of people decades and decades ago in the church yard, half clothed and laughing. He’s not a child, he knows how things work. But it didn't feel like this before.    
  
They stop kissing. The boy presses his forehead to Lizzie's. Ross brings his feet up and stands, making his way slowly along the edge of the roof back back down inside the church. 

His chest hurts.    
  


* * *

 

Ross leans his head against the stone and listens to Lizzie singing to herself. The church is empty, aside from him and her. He’s glad that the boy isn’t with her today, and hates himself a little for it. Ross watches Lizzie arranging flowers for the All Souls’ Day sermon. Lilies, carnations, and roses. She keeps stopping to smell them. Ross watches her take a rose out and trim it, before setting it back into the vase and smiling. Lizzie picks up the vase and carries it to the front of the church, stepping up to set it on the high platform next to the pulpit. 

Ross sits up a little so he can see her better. She takes a step back, arms folded over her chest, her head tipped to the side thoughtfully. The flowers look perfect, Ross thinks. All white, and pure. They match the white ribbons she’d curled through the wooden beams of the pulpit the morning before. Lizzie takes another step back. Her heel slips off the edge of the small stone ledge the pulpit stands on, and Ross watches her topple backwards. Her head hits the floor with a dull thud.

Ross kneels up in concern. Lizzie doesn’t move. He doesn’t know what to do. As he stares at her, a dark pool of blood starts to show from behind her head. Ross scrambles to his feet, muttering a prayer for help before swinging himself over the edge of the gallery and letting himself drop as carefully as he can down into the church proper. 

The stone he lands on cracks under him but he ignores it, hurrying over to where Lizzie lies on the floor. He crouches over her, reaching out to touch her cheek gently with his clawed fingers. Her eyes open, and she gazes at Ross, brow furrowing. 

“It’ll be okay.” Ross says, voice soft. He doesn’t know what to do. He shifts his wings out behind him nervously. He can’t help.

“Angel?” She says faintly.

Ross realises, then, what he must look like. He meets her gaze and, after a second, he nods. Lizzie smiles. Ross smiles back. Her hand goes limp on his and Ross gently sets it back down on the stone and closes her eyes. He stands and takes a step back from her body. He feels like screaming. Instead, he goes to the vase of flowers. Taking a lily and carefully putting it in Lizzie’s hand, he throws the vase and the rest of the flowers to the ground as hard as he can. It shatters, the crash of porcelain against stone echoing loudly around the church. Ross hopes it’s loud enough for the pastor to hear from his office. 

Taking one last look at Lizzie, Ross walks away and pulls himself up the stone wall back to the gallery, tucking himself into his corner and closing his eyes. He listens to the footsteps of the pastor as he comes into the church. He listens to the gasp and the shouting. He listens to the crying, and wishes he could do the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lot sadder than I thought it would end up being.
> 
> If there's anything else I need to tag, please let me know!


End file.
